Broken Hearts Club
by The Knife In Your Side
Summary: There was vehemence in the way they crashed against each other, the way he slammed her against the wall with every thrust and the way she bit down on the rough fingers that curled inside her mouth, choking her into silence. It was vicious, frenzied, chaotic. An explosion of violence fuelled by the pain that'd been festering within them for far too long.
1. A Demonstration of Fractured Existence

"_Between your lips, the dark field meets a night sky. I am inside each ragged breath and the pause between."_

–_Carole Glasser Langille_

_March, 1995_

* * *

><p>Dirk didn't know exactly how he ended up where he was.<p>

He'd always been the most secluded of people, afraid of touch too tender, light too bright and sound too sharp.

But there he was, standing stiffly in a room of hundreds that smelled of adolescent sweat intermingled with the stark bitterness of cheap beer, uncomfortably pressed against the bodies of strangers while being assaulted by radiating music so loud and jarring it overpowered rational thought.

The chaos was like a drug, elevating him outside of himself – but only momentarily before he crashed back again. He felt as if he were stuck within a state of constant flux. It was the curse of a rigidly logical mind poisoned with alcohol. There was always a scraping piece of his subconscious that couldn't let go, that reeled against the loss of self, causing a startling ricochet between crippling anxiety and absentminded bliss as he moved within the beast of dancing adolescence.

_Why am I here?_ The thought crossed his mind as swiftly before disappearing again.

There were remnants of memory scattered in his mind. The musky scent of a lover. _Kissing_. A broken picture frame. _Bruising_. The jolting sound of furious screaming. _Blood_.

Struck with sudden vertigo, a moment of clarity crushed Dirk like an icy tempest against his crawling skin. Looking down at his purple, skin-split knuckles, the world shattered around him in a moment of cataclysmic sobriety.

Roxy knew exactly how she ended up where she was.

Her entire world travelled in a pedantically broken cycle of pleasure and pain; of neon nights and disconnected days that spiralled her through time in an uncaring, cataleptic haze. The searing sensation of vodka lurched down her throat as she clutched the neck of a vodka bottle as if it were a lifeline. It left an after-taste of bitterness fitting of the concentrated acrimony that plagued the anchor she called a heart.

Her eyes rested on the rigidly still boy standing amongst the swaying masses across the floor, the one with hair white as snow and eyes concealed by a pair of ridiculous shades. There was no control in her movements, no hesitation in her stride as she made her way towards him, wondering if he could tear her away from all she was.

And so with fingers that ghosted across his hips, she snapped him out of his stillness.

An emptily ardent Dirk didn't even think before he tugged the girl with cotton-candy pink hair towards him, fingers gripping into her sides. She yelped in surprise and giggled, responding enthusiastically by feeling her hands beneath his thin shirt and up his chest.

He pressed his eyes closed, rabidly reciting the same deluded mantra through his head as if it were the only thing holding his splintering parts together.

S_he can fix me. She can fix me. She can fix me._

They stumbled their way through the crowd; a giddy, slurring Roxy in the lead as Dirk numbly allowed himself to be led away. The sporadic music and strobing lights became white noise in his mind as he aggressively shoved her up against a door, crashing their lips together.

Together they tumbled into the room, all clashing teeth and burning touches. Shirts found themselves ripped away from feverish skin, and Roxy was shoved violently against the wall. With a moan, she dug her sharp fingernails into his back.

S_he can fix me. She can fix me. She can fix me._

A scorching detachment had finally burned away all sense of reason from Dirks mind, leaving a manic, animalistic version of himself in its place. The sort of person who held the fragile girl with bruising fingers and bit down on her neck. Roxy let out a shrill squeal as her body radiated with a mix of pleasure and pain.

The sound scratched across Dirks mind and he clasped a hand over her mouth, unable to handle the noises she made; they were too piercing, too sharp, too _feminine._

But he wasn't conscience enough of his actions to stop, clinging desperately with need – not to the strange women he was entangled in, but that single fervent thought racing through his mind:

S_he can fix me. She can fix me. She can fix me._

With eyes wide and wild, Roxy's underwear was ripped aside as her hand slipped down the boy's tight jeans, unknowing that the hardness she found had less to do with her, and more to do with drunken desperation.

There was vehemence in the way they crashed against each other, the way he slammed her against the wall with every thrust and the way she bit down on the rough fingers that curled inside her mouth, choking her into silence.

It was vicious, frenzied, chaotic. An explosion of violence fuelled by the pain that'd been festering within them for far too long. The way they fucked was never about love, or lust. It was about proving themselves – a demonstration of their fractured existence.

Roxy immersed herself in the aching euphoria as she reached her high, drawing beads blood to the surface of his skin as her sharp nails clawed into Dirk's back.

He didn't make a sound as he came shortly after, jaw locked and eyes squinted shut as if to pretend it wasn't happening.

"Sorry, luv." Dirk whispered as he slipped out of her grasp, ghosting out of the pitch-black room.

Roxy slid to the floor, breaths heaving and cheeks flushed. She reached for something breakable – which happened to be an old lamp – and flung it across the room with a frustrated cry. In the darkness, she heard it shatter. Uncontrollable sobs escaped her and she buried her face in her knees. Thin arms wrapped around her legs, holding herself together, as ugly tears streamed down her face feeling all torn up inside.

She didn't even know why she was crying – he'd been so _beautiful_, that nameless boy. Why couldn't he just take her with him? Why did they _never take her with them?_

Why did her beautiful boys never love her?

Why did they never save her?

Dirk's fist collided against the wall.

Outside, alone in an alleyway, he lashed out again. And again. And again. Scabs split upon and blood splattered, all thick and sticky over the rough bricks. Everything within him hummed with electricity. Feverish and agitated, he was a live wire ready to ignite.

Every nerve in his body was rapidly firing, his heart thrumming like a humming bird in his chest, the heat beneath his skin aching to unleash itself. Dirk had finally reached his breaking point.

And then the sky cracked opened. Rain poured down upon him, the cool droplets releasing him from the sweltering Texan air.

Teeth gritted he motioned to collide his fist with the wall again, but something faltered within him and instead he reached out to the wall for support as all the energy seemed to flood from his body in a moment of vertigo. Head rested against the bricks, he let out a cry of anguish – it was a terrible sound, caught raw in his throat like that of a dying animal.

But those bright eyes crisp as a burning sunset spilled no tears.

A sense of utter disgust settled in his stomach, his heart clenching with self-loathing and disappointment. Regret staining everywhere his skin had brushed hers.

_That girl was meant to fix me_, he thought with jarring dejection, too tired to conjure his rage once more.

And just like that, his entire being flooded with emptiness. He couldn't feel the rain on his face or the ache of his broken knuckles or the despair in his heaving chest.

Lost within his lacuna, Dirk disconnected from it all.

Such a shame that girl couldn't fix him.

She had been so beautiful.


	2. Twisting Darkened Taunt

"_I am convinced I am unfit for any human relationship."_

–_Franz Kafka_

_June, 1995_

* * *

><p>As time turned in a dry, dusty spiral Dirk couldn't have told you what day it was even if you asked nicely. In the past week he had barely spoken a few passive words, and over the last three days he hadn't eaten a single thing, but through that afternoon he'd smoked eleven cigarettes and in that hour he'd drunk three cups of burning black coffee.<p>

Feeling a palm across his stubbly jaw, his feet touched the cold concrete floor. Stretching his neck, he felt a tension in his muscles and gritty feeling that sunk into his skin like molasses. Dirk couldn't remember when he'd last showered, or even bothered to change his clothes. His life had simmered down to a stale crawl of depressive abandon.

The electricity had been cut the day prior and given the landline in the kitchen had been hanging off the hook for the past week, Dirk hadn't received a single call from his work or brother wondering where he was. In terms of the former, however, he assumed he was fired. And as for the later, well, Bro wasn't the type to come barging his door down upon a week's radio silence. He wasn't the type to show concern much for anything, really.

His bedroom was a mess of half-finished robotic projects, laying sprawled and disregarded across ever surface and spilling onto the floor. So carefully manoeuvring out of the room, Dirk made his way to the coffee pot once again without even a second glance to his cupboards – they were essentially empty anyway. He hadn't been grocery shopping in almost a month. He'd barely left the apartment for anything but work until that, too, came to an end.

The knocking at the door didn't filter into his awareness right away until the sound of another voice hit his conscious mind with sudden terror.

"Is anybody home?" an unfamiliar voice called, and Dirk dragged himself to the door.

Swinging the door open, he spoke roughly, "What do you want?"

"How old are you?" the girl questioned. She had a petite stature, short blonde hair with cotton-candy tips, and eyes brightly inquisitive – appearing vaguely familiar in a way he just couldn't place.

"Seventeen." Dirk answered dryly.

The girl frowned. "_Fuck_. Honestly I'd hoped you were at least nineteen. Do you have a job?"

He scowled, stomach turning. "Who are you and why the fuck are you here?"

"I'm Roxy. You knocked me up."

"Oh."

Dirk froze, as shock reverberate through his being and a sickness begun to well in the depths of his stomach. Those are never the words he would ever expect to apply to him – his brother had always teased him for his lack of a girlfriend and stubborn unwillingness to interact with other human beings.

"Are you gonna let me in?" she asked impatiently, eyeing him critically.

"Yeah." he answered mechanically, stepping aside.

Roxy smiled politely, but worry still weighed in her eyes as she entered the dimly lit kitchen. Dirk shuffled to the counter, shambling through the mess to find a clean mug and poured a cup of coffee. Gulping, he turned towards her but found himself simply staring, with no idea what to do.

The girl sighed, stepped forward and took the mug from his hands, "Thank you."

"So… uh. I don't remember much from that night…"

It was a lie. Dirk remembered it with sharp, stabbing clarity; every seething breath and violent measure between. But most of all he remembered the blood splattered brick wall. He remembered all he'd left of himself in that dark ally.

Something about the pity in Roxy's eyes told him she knew it too.

"Ya got a girlfriend I should be worried about?"

Any other situation and Dirk would have laughed at such a question, but here he simply swallowed spit and shook his head.

"Are you keeping it?"

Her eyes dimmed slightly, "…I found out too late. I can't abort it now – I'm three months. And even then, I couldn't afford that. Sorry darlin'."

Dirk in took a sharp breath, and rubbed his hands over his face.

"Does anybody else live here?"

"Just me."

Roxy eyed him curiously, "No family?"

"I have an elder brother. He raised me. But we don't live together anymore." Dirk answered curtly.

"School?" she quipped.

He shrugged, "Dropped out."

"Same."

They sat in heavy silence for a few moments, avoiding each other's gaze before Roxy sighed, "I need a cigarette."

Dirk simply nodded as she pulled herself into a tired stand, shook a carton from her sleeve and sauntered out of the room. Now alone, the teenager finally noticed how he'd been absentmindedly tapping his foot a rate a little too quick to be considered an everyday tick. He also noticed he'd been digging his nails into his knees and clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

In a snap decision, Dirk stood and picked the landline up from where it hung, dialling his bro's number. Trying to regulate his breath as the tone dialled at a snail's pace, he felt the eventual click of as answer shake him bones – and before his brother could get a word in spewed out, "_I-got-a-girl-pregnant-what-do-I-do_."

"Wait what, repeat that? I'm a little hungover. Had a very late night with a couple of nice girls from–"

"I got a girl pregnant, bro. I-I don't know what to do. I don't even _know_ her!" Dirk felt his heart rate rising as he spewed out the word in a blind panic.

"Calm down, dude. Fuck. You deal with it. You fuckin provide. Like I did for _you_ when Ma died. You get over yourself, give up any dreams you had for your future and you _deal with it_ _like a fuckin' man_." His voice was hoarse and bitter.

Dirk run a hand through his hair, "I-I think I just lost my job."

"Wow you're on a fuckin' roll ain't ya." Bro drawled sarcastically, rolling out his southern drawl, "Here's what you do: go back and beg like a bitch. Or get a new one. I don't fuckin know. I ain't some expert at this shit."

"Could you at least try and care for a fucking second?" Dirk spat through his teeth.

Bro sighed, "C'mon look on the bright side, I was getting paranoid you may end up some kinda fag or whatever. Least you got yourself a girl now and–"

Dirk hung up the phone and slammed a palm sharply against the wall in a sudden burst of aggression. Sighing tiredly, he lent his forehead against the wall, suddenly aware of Roxy's presence standing in the doorway behind him.

"I won't be a very good father." He stated plainly, voice low and gravelly.

"And I'll be a terrible mother." She drawled, a cynical tone in her voice. But stepping closer, her voice lowed into a more serious tone, "I'm gonna leave my number here. We can talk more about this later. Just… I'm sixteen. Don't leave me alone with this kid. I-I'm trustin' you now."

He didn't turn around, he didn't face her.

"I won't."

And then the girl was gone.

With a sigh Dirk's clouded eyes swept over the messy apartment and with lethargic limbs he sunk to the floor. He was so tired and his eyes were so heavy, leaning a throbbing head against the wall and allowing his eyelid to droop.

And finally, he slept. Not out of tiredness – although he was indeed exhausted – but because for the first time the twisting darkened taunt of his nightmares appealed more than the reality he faced.


End file.
